


Here I Am

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Allusions to Physical Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a failed suicide attempt, nineteen year old University Student Lancelot du Lac finds himself stuck in a rehabilitation center for a forty-five days. Over a month of too white walls, the smell of crayons and stale carpet, and horrible cafeteria food seems to be too much for Lance to handle. Not to mention the other five kids along for the ride, whose only common trait is one thing--their flawed plan to end their lives. He's sure the entire thing is all hopeless, until then Lance meets Gwen, his counselor, who brings him into the light, and shows him a side of life that might be worth living for after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here I Am

**Author's Note:**

> Jeez, this is the longest thing I've ever written. I have spent so much time editing and revising this, adding parts and taking them out, hoping that it all still flows together well. My knowledge of any sort of Rehab is limited, so please excuse any mistakes. 
> 
> I wanted to write a companion story to this one, following the story of Merlin and Arthur instead of Lance and Gwen, so please tell me if you'd be interested in that, as well.
> 
> All in all, thanks for reading, and please enjoy!

The drop-off is silent, and his mother gives him a tiny smile as he shuts the car door. He doesn't speak to her, can't bring himself to offer a smile in return, and just quietly nods instead. He looks up at the facility that is to be his prison for the next forty-five days. 

He has a sinking feeling in his gut, unsure if he'll even last that long. 

He turns just in time to smell the gas, and sees the blue car pulling out, and away, the swish of his mother's dark hair gone from sight in a matter of minutes.

He contemplates running for the briefest of moments. He could easily find somewhere to stay for forty-five days. He can wait outside the facility when the time comes, pretend that he's happy and that he's “all better”, make up people he talked to and what they did together. He's good at making things up, he thinks, but eventually, he shakes his head. It's the first time he's seen his mother in years, he reminds himself. The least he can do is honor her wishes, especially since it's directed towards him. Walking towards the building, he grips the strap of his bag tighter with each step he takes.

It's going to be a _long_ forty-five days. 

~~

When he enters, the place smells awful. He blinks, as if trying to process it all in one go. It reminds him of the daycare center his father put him into from ages six to ten—musky, yet too clean, and the vague hint of crayons mixed with paint. Like hospitals. Or nursing homes. 

There's a desk up front, two doors leading left and right. A woman is sitting at said desk, glasses perched on her nose, hunkering over something, he assumes a document. There's a small nameplate sitting on the counter, reading 'Mithian Nemeth', and he guesses passingly that's her name. He approaches the counter tentatively, just wanting to go ahead and settle in, and when she looks up, she smiles.

“Can I help you?”

_No_ , he thinks, very bitterly, but instead, he shrugs. He says softly, “I'm...here for...the program?”

He hopes it's enough, and apparently, it is. She nods her head, almost as if she were expecting it. She looks down at the same paper she was reading over moments before, and asks, “Name?”

“Lancelot du Lac.” 

Mithian picks up a pen and writes something next to his name, then stands. She shuffles around the desk momentarily, before retrieving a file of some sort, peers into it, then snaps it shut. Her smile doesn't fade as she walks around the desk, and waves her hand for him to follow her through the door on the left. He walks after her cautiously, but not without one, wistful glance behind him at the doors of freedom. 

The next room is white, and very bland, still smelling like cleaners and stale carpet. Along the walls are many doors, equally spaced apart with a name outside of each, though he doesn't bother reading any of them. There's a television in the center, accompanied by a soft, red velvet colored couch, and a few bean bag chairs of mismatched colors in front. There's also a round table with six chairs off to the side. As they walk, there's another door leading out, but Mithian doesn't go that far, instead, stopping at one of the doors in the middle. The name on the outside of it reads his own name, and he bites back a small grimace. 

“Here you are. Go on in and make yourself comfortable. Everyone else is in their rooms right now, but they'll all come out to see you at group, later. You won't have a one-on-one session until tomorrow, and then you'll have one every day after that, with a group session on Wednesdays, like today. The bathroom is through that door,” Mithian pauses to point at the door leading out in the other direction, “to your right. Breakfast is served at ten sharp, lunch at two, and dinner at six. The cafeteria is straight down that hall, the big doors, you can't miss it. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask any of the others, or one of your counselors.”

With that, Mithian takes her leave. He sighs and shuts the door behind her. Glancing briefly over the bleak walls, he walks to the pristine bed. He toes off his shoes, crawls onto the stiff, clean sheets, and without even covering himself, he closes his eyes, and sleeps. 

~~

He awakes to the sound of someone knocking rather loudly on his door.

“Oi! New boy! Get out here! It's group time and no one is allowed to miss group unless you're dying, which is funny since that's what all of us are in here for trying to do.”

He contemplates ignoring the very posh, very arrogant voice, but thinks better of it. He knows those kinds of people. They're the ones who'll probably persist, and persist, and persist, until you finally comply to their whims. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, then swings his legs over the bed, slipping on his shoes before heading to the door. He opens it, then blinks slowly at the other boy standing there. 

He's tall, about as tall as himself, and Lance puts him at about eighteen or nineteen, but no older. He's broad-shouldered and blond, blue eyes that seem to be staring into the very fabric of his being, though where once they could've been quite bright, they seemed darker, now. Lance immediately thinks of him being what was likely the Golden Boy in school, the person everyone loved and admired. A smile sweeps across his features, and he flashes teeth that are slightly crooked. He jerks his head over his shoulder, then points with a thumb, and Lance catches the flash of bandages over his wrist. He doesn't comment. 

“C'mon, you're going to be late. Name's Arthur, by the way. You are?”

Lance thinks about just pointing to the name next to his door, but then figures he already knows, just wants to hear Lance say it out loud. He humors him. “Lancelot.”

“No shit, really?” Arthur asks, his friendly smile twisting into a bit of a smirk.

“Yeah. It really is,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes and waiting for the joke. 

“Not making fun of you, mate. Just, King Arthur and Lancelot, yeah?” Lance doesn't make any motion of acknowledging it, and instead just stares blankly. Arthur shrugs, seemingly unfazed. “Right, well, come on. I don't know who are counselor is today, but if it's Mr. Knight, then we're in for trouble if we're late. Man's cool and all, but he'll rip you a new one.” 

Lance doesn't know who Mr. Knight is, but at Arthur's insistence, he follows after him. They go down the hall and then Arthur stops at one room, knocks twice, then opens it, holding it open and making a wide gesture for Lance to go in first. He waits, staring at Arthur expectantly, before the blond snorts and mutters something along the lines of _suit yourself_ before sauntering in.

He walks in quietly after him, and notices a group of five other children, counting Arthur who takes one of the chairs that are in a circle. There's a woman sitting in one of the chairs as well, and when she smiles at him, he swears his heart skips. 

She's small, but by no means dainty. Her eyes are warm and bright, a deep rich brown that he could probably lose himself in if he looks long enough. She has beautiful chocolate curls that fall just above her shoulders, and are brushed messily behind her pierced ears. She waves at him with slender, beautiful fingers, and gestures to the seats around her. There's only one vacant and that's one next to Arthur. But he finds that he almost doesn't mind, and tentatively smiles back at her as he takes the seat.

She claps her hands together, nodding at him. 

“Well. Now that we're all here, I'd like everyone to meet Lancelot. Everyone say hello.”

There's a small halfhearted chorus of _Hi Lancelot_ , to which he speaks up quietly, “I prefer Lance, actually.”

The woman nods, keeping her eyes attentive on him, and then she gestures to herself. “It's nice to meet you, Lance. I'm Ms. Guinevere Smithson, but please, call me Gwen. I'll be your counselor for group, today. It changes regularly, though, so next Wednesday it could be Mr. Emerson, or Mr. Knight. I'll let the rest of the group introduce themselves.” 

She turns to the teenager to her right. He seems rather shut off, dark hair that looks tousled all over the place. His eyes are deep and wary, almost hurt but secretive, reminding him of Arthur. He gives Lance a tight smile. Gwen says, “Mordred, why don't you go first? Tell us your name, age, and something interesting about yourself.”

He looks displeased about it, but Mordred just sighs, and says softly, “I'm Mordred Lodestone. Seventeen. And I write in my free time.” 

There's not much elaboration, and Lance doesn't care to ask for it. Entirely, he feels the whole introduction spiel is unnecessary in itself, but obviously his opinion isn't taken into consideration. Gwen smiles and the girl next to Mordred, a tiny looking girl, who most certainly looks dainty, takes in a deep breath. Her hair is in messy stands of dark brown, knitting her fingers together. “Freya. I'm seventeen, and I like animals. I...um...I'm like you. I just got here...today.”

She smiles cautiously, and Lance smiles back, but it fades as the next boy talks, a boy named Gwaine who is eighteen and says he loves people. It goes on like that for a while, another girl next to him saying her name is Elena and she's seventeen turning eighteen in three days, and that she loves horse riding.

It finally gets to Arthur, who shrugs, and he sits back in his chair. He gives Gwen a long, hard stare, which she returns, and if Lance didn't know any better, he would say they were speaking telepathically. He finally clears his throat, and says, turning to Lance, “Arthur Pendragon. Nineteen. I'm a _genius_.” 

There's something about the way he says it that makes Lance laugh, and he feels ridiculous for doing it. He watches as Arthur frowns, as if he doesn't understand the joke. He quickly clears his throat, before Arthur turns away from him, and Lance pauses. All eyes are on him now, and he realizes quickly, _oh, it's my turn._

“I'm Lance. I'm nineteen. And...”

He doesn't know what to say, and feeling the stares of all the other children, and Gwen, he says quietly, safely, “...And I like photography.”

~~

The session ends and everyone leaves. Lance goes to leave to when Gwen calls him back, and standing in the doorway, he looks to her.

She smiles kindly at him, and sets a hand on his shoulder. “Since I don't know if anyone's told you, yet, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be your one-on-one counselor. I know you're probably nervous, since this is your first day, but I promise it'll be a breeze in no time.”

The words sounds like a normal, generic speech, like something she says to all of her kids, but something about the way she says it and the way she looks into his eyes as she speaks, it makes him believe her. 

He smiles for real, and nods his head. She walks past him, her touch lingering on his shoulder for a second longer before he watches her down the hall, curls bouncing with each step.

He laughs again, and doesn't know why, but it's the best he's felt in weeks. 

~~

When he returns to the lounge area, everyone is sitting by the television. Arthur's on the right end of the couch, Mordred on the left and Freya in the middle. On the bean bags, Gwaine and Elena sit side by side, chatting about something or another, not even paying attention to the flashing screen. There's a vacant bean bag, and Lance thinks about sitting with them, but decides not to.

He begins to walk back towards his room when Arthur calls out to him. “Hey, Lance, come over here.”

Lance hesitates, and looks over his shoulder to see the blond with a perched eyebrow, Mordred staring at him unblinking, Freya offering a timid smile. Elena and Gwaine still seem to be off in their own world, but he gives, and walks over. 

He takes the vacant bean bag and sits, practically curling into himself into it. Mordred turns off the television and slides onto the floor, sitting next to him, and Arthur takes off his shoes and tucks them underneath him. Freya shifts into the now more roomy area, and the other two stop talking and turn to face him.

“So,” Arthur says, looking regal, almost kingly. He gives another crooked grin. “How did you end up here?”

By everyone's questioning gazes, he assumes this is some sort of ritual, an acceptance for everyone to get into the circle. They didn't talk about it with Gwen, Gwen just talked about setting goals and helping them towards healing. But come to think of it, no one ever said _how_ or _why_. 

He shrugs blandly, lips tightly sealed. He doesn't think of how, and why, almost fearing that if he thinks it, they'll see it. They still stare, and Arthur's scrutinizing gaze doesn't help matters at all. 

He lets his eyes trail over everyone, not meeting anyone's gaze. The strange, bizarre thing is, all of them look entirely normal. No one looks like they tried to take their own lives. They all look sane, normal, kids he would pass everyday at University. 

“Fine,” Arthur declares, after a moment, causing Lance to snap his eyes back to him. “It's not like we don't already know you tried to off yourself. Freya, what about you?” 

The words sting, and he winces, the words ringing in his mind. _Off yourself_. It sounds so horrible and sad, but thinking of it, that's what he did. What he tried. He notices how Mordred shifts uncomfortably next to him, how Elena looks down and how Gwaine seems to let his mind wander somewhere far away. Even Arthur seems affected, though he's the one who spoke the words to begin with. 

Freya doesn't answer, but instead seizes up, and Mordred puts an arm around her awkwardly. 

There's a silence that washes over them, no one willing to break it, before Arthur just gets up and leaves. He doesn't go to his room, but instead back towards the door that leads to the hall. He disappears, and no one seems to notice but himself.

“He's going to talk to Merlin again,” Mordred says finally. “I know it.”

Lance doesn't ask who Merlin is. Everyone else seems to know, though, and he leaves it be.

~~

Arthur doesn't show for lunch, or dinner, for that matter, and Lance, though curious, doesn't ask about him. No one else seems affected by it, therefore Lance assumes that it's a regular occurrence. He eats silently while everyone else talks quietly amongst themselves, the food tasteless in his mouth. Freya consistently tries to rope him into talking about himself, probably comforted by not being the only “new girl” but he brushes it off and before long, he excuses himself and leaves. 

He returns to his room and closes the door, absently noticing how there's no lock. He grabs his bag and rummages around for a moment, pulling out his nightclothes that he threw into his bag that morning. He puts them to his nose and breaths in, reveling in the scent of familiarity.

Thoughts are running through his mind, and brought back to a memory, he sees and he feels. He can feel callous hands on his shoulders, can feel spit soaking his cheeks, can smell alcohol, can feel the pain, the screaming, _you're a sick, sick child, the bane of my existence--!_

Lance stops. He breaths. He grips the clothes tightly, before stripping, and changing into them. He glances to the clock, reading only seven-thirty. Too early to sleep.

He isn't tired anyway. He sits on his bed and opens his bag again. He searches every pocket, fingers grazing the inside until finally he finds what he's after. He pulls the camera from his bag, and leans back.

Feeling it in his hands, he can feel himself calm down. His camera has been apart of his life for ages now, and it's almost like his grown-up comfort blanket. 

He has the photos memorized, but he can't help but want to look through them again. He powers it up and clicks through it, remembering when and where he took each photo. The tree in the Uni courtyard, looking like it had leapt from a fairy tale, the duck pond in the park, the blooming flowers last spring...

It takes a while, but a while is all he needed. By the time he looks at the clock again, it's nine and, despite still not being tired, he decides that he could use the sleep anyway, despite his earlier nap.

He sets the camera on his nightstand, and curls underneath the covers, reaching over blindly to turn off the lamp on the stand. 

Lance closes his eyes, and he's lost. 

~~

He wakes up just before eight. He feels groggy and tired, but gets up anyway. He leaves the room and heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stares at his reflection, and sighs, before turning on the cold water and splashing it into his face. He does this several times before using his shirt sleeve to wipe the water away. He brushes back the still wet strands of hair from his face.

Lance walks back into the lounge and feels empty somehow. It's not from hunger, though he is hungry, but it's too quiet and the quiet make him ill at ease. Back at home, there was always something running, something he could hear, but it was deathly silent here. He goes to sit on the couch, and turns on the television, making sure to keep the volume low. He flips idly through the channels, stopping on the weather report for whatever reason. It's familiar, and the weatherman drones and he watches it, fading in and out of reality. 

A door opens and he snaps his head around. There in one of the doorways stands a man, gangly limbs and a mess of dark hair. His face is pale, high cheekbones and his clothes look entirely wrinkled. He looks at Lance with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, before his blue eyes finally light up in some sense of recognition.

“You must be Lancelot,” he says, and his grin is so blinding that Lance actually blinks. “I'm Mr. Emerson, one of the counselors. Most of everyone here just calls me Merlin, though. And no kidding, that's my name. I have a license to prove it.” 

Lance huffs out a small laugh, not at the name, but at the sheer weirdness of it all. There's him, Lancelot, and Arthur, then Mordred, Guinevere, Gwaine probably counts, and now there's a Merlin. It almost feels like the Round Table. Almost.

Instead of answering, he just nods, and Merlin's smile shifts softly. He runs his fingers through his hair, and Lance pauses to realize that he wants to take a picture of it, of the way Merlin's pale fingers contrast with his dark hair. It seems too strange to ask, so he doesn't say anything.

“Well, I'll see you around, then,” Merlin says finally, and he leaves through the door. 

Lance thinks of what it would be like to have Merlin as a counselor, seeing as he already seems wonderful. But he remembers Gwen and her lovely smile and he thinks otherwise. 

~~

At about a quarter to ten, everyone is beginning to rise. Freya comes out and smiles at him, sitting next to him on the couch as he's found some child's cartoon that he vaguely remembers watching when he was a kid and when he still lived with his mother. Mordred comes by later and sits on the floor instead, making comments about the show every now and again, but is otherwise silent. Gwaine saunters out, followed shortly by Elena, who looks frankly miserable somehow, and finally Arthur stumbles out of his own room, looking worse than Elena. 

He doesn't comment on anyone, but at ten, everyone gets up and goes to the cafeteria to eat. Lance finds himself watching Arthur curiously as he pushes his food around on the plate, but then stops and looks up, gaze locked onto something. Lance follows his eyes and realizes that's it's not _something_ but instead _someone_ and sees Mr. Emerson grabbing a cup of coffee. Arthur's eyes soften as Merlin looks his way, and Merlin smiles, but leaves the room. 

Lance asks, “Is Mr. Emerson your counselor?”

Arthur snaps out of it and looks at him as if he's startled by the fact Lance had spoken to him. He doesn't answer straight away, but eventually nods his head.

Lance leaves it at that.

~~

His session with Gwen is at one, which runs until two, which is lunch, then he goes back to her for another hour, until three. Then he's free until dinner. 

He looks forward to seeing Gwen. There's something about her that charms him. There's something about the way that she seems so sincere about everything she says and does. She almost makes him forget why he's here in the first place.

Everyone gathers in the lounge and Gwaine withdraws a packet of cards. He invites Lance over as they all sit down at the table to play Go Fish, since it's one of the few games that accommodates a large amount of people. 

(He doesn't remember the last time he played a card game.)

The time passes slowly and Arthur keeps looking at him strangely. It's very subtle but he can't place why he's looking at him the way he is. Eventually, the clock hits one and he gets up, telling them that he has a counsel session. Everyone nods in agreement, and he watches as Freya gets up too, because she also has a session, and so does Gwaine, leaving Mordred, Arthur, and Elena alone. 

He doesn't know where to go at first, but Freya shows him the door that's Gwen's office, and she smiles as she steps into Mr. Emerson's office (he knows this because his name's on the door), and Gwaine salutes him as he steps into Mr. Knight's office. 

He knocks quietly on Gwen's door, and at her soft _come in_ , he opens the door and steps inside. 

The office is quaint, and quiet, still pale in color but warm somehow. He likes how it feels, and he closes the door behind him gently. There's a chair in front of a desk, and Gwen gestures to it. She smiles kindly at him and he complies. 

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and instead of finding a clipboard or a piece of paper or anything, like he expects, she folds her hands neatly and lays them in full view on the desk (she has nice hands, he thinks). He gives her a confused look; a cocked eyebrow to say _why_ , but instead of answering, she speaks to him instead.

“Hello, Lance. Did you sleep well?” 

Of all the things he expected, her words weren't one of them. He blinks, but he nods dumbly, and she nods in turn. 

“Good. It's important for the body and mind to get enough sleep.”

He wants to ask her why she's avoiding talking to him about _it_ , but he cuts himself short when her eyes flash from kind, to not _un_ kind, but serious. She doesn't talk to him for a few moments, and he relishes in the silence as he can just observe her with curious eyes and not seem creepy about it. He can't place it, but something about her catches his fancy. 

“Lance, you know why you're here.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Do you want to tell me why?”

He doesn't have to ask her what she means by _why_. Gwen fixes him with a strong gaze, but he finds himself unable to look her in the eye. Part of him wants to scream, just wants to break down and tell her every reason, every word that drove him to the edge, but he finds his lips tightly sealed. So instead, he shrugs, and lets that be his answer. 

She takes a deep breath, and nods, before letting herself smile at him again. “Then...why don't you talk to me about anything? School, friends, family...anything. Just talk about it.” 

Lance thinks that he won't be able to tell her anything about that, either. He thinks about high school and bites back a grimace, thinks of telling her about Uni, but thinks otherwise, contemplates his friends and his mind goes blank, and even considering to talk about his family is treading a dangerous line. 

But he opens his mouth, and words come out. 

He speaks. And she listens. 

~~

He hardly registers the time passing, so caught up in speaking now that he does it. He's never been a wordy person—he speaks what he means and not a word more. But somehow, he feels the need to speak _more_ to Gwen—to elaborate and to express vividly what he thinks. There's a feeling of trust there, just a spark, and it's enough to keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth. 

Gwen is attentive and her eyes don't ever stray far from him. Every now and again she'll make a noise of acknowledgment, to indicate she's still listening, and she even contributes to the tale by adding in her own stories every now and again (never enough to overshadow him). 

At one point, he says something and she laughs, and his heart physically aches because God, it's probably one of the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard. He's sure his face flushes when she laughs, and after a moment, Gwen stops, looking at him apologetically as if her laughing made him embarrassed to speak, and that's so far from the truth, he almost tells her. But instead he continues talking because she continues listening. 

When he takes a moment to breathe properly, Gwen holds up a hand, and he promptly shuts his mouth. 

“It's two, why don't you go and have lunch? You'll come back afterward, and we can finish this conversation, yeah?” 

He thinks, _has it really been an hour already?_ Before saying _yeah, okay,_ as he stands from his chair. She watches him leave, and he pauses at the door to give her a big smile, the brightest one he's given in ages. She looks at him, surprised for but an instant, before her own smile softens. 

He closes the door, but not without hearing her say, “You have a lovely smile. You should do it more.”

He makes a mental note to smile whenever he can.

~~

Lunch is a louder affair than he would've expected. Lance assumes that it's because it's not breakfast where everyone is half awake, and it's not dinner where everyone has already had their therapy sessions and might be uncomfortable or depressed. Lunch is probably the only time it feels normal, or at least, that's what he guesses.

Gwaine is actually very quiet today, looking actually a bit somber as he steps into the cafeteria. It makes Lance wonder just what he's been through to give him a look like that. He had thought that Gwaine was the more stable one of everyone, but it seemed even Gwaine had his problems (not that he didn't know that before, considering he's here.)

Freya is quiet, as usual, and that doesn't startle him. Lance assumes that if Freya went to his school, she would be the girl that just kept to herself, and sat in either the corner or the back. He would've probably noticed her, but would never speak to her. Not out of cruelty, but out of just lack of interest or motivation to do so.

Only Elena, Arthur, and Mordred seem unfazed, and it's most likely because they haven't had their sessions yet. Unlike everyone else, he doesn't feel terrible at all, but that's probably because he hasn't actually talked about his “problem”. 

The last time he was asked about it, he broke down sobbing at the hospital the day after his attempt until the nurse held him and said he didn't have to talk unless he was ready. 

He's not particularly proud of that. 

(He thinks himself much stronger.)

The meal passes in a blur, a long stretch of silence and indistinguishable conversation. It doesn't feel much different from school, Lance thinks, the murmur of words all blending together. He leaves before lunch is over, and ignores the stares that burn into the back of his skull as he walks.

He makes his way back to Gwen's office slowly, not exactly knowing what time it is. It could be three, but it could also be two-ten, which would be a little embarrassing to be back so early. But he decides that if she asks about it, he'll tell her he wasn't hungry (which wouldn't entirely be a lie, he wasn't, not really). He turns the knob on her door carefully, opening it quietly before slipping inside. 

This is one of those moments where Lance praises that technology was created. Gwen types away on her computer, not even paying attention to the fact that he's walked in, and the window behind her streams in sunlight, and the way its positioned, she almost looks angelic. 

Scratch that, she _does_ look angelic. 

The lighting, the way she's not looking at him, he clenches his fists together because God, that would make a great picture. He almost curses himself for not having his camera on hand, but then again, he doesn't think Gwen would appreciate being photographed without consent, so in the end, he's grateful that he didn't bring it. 

Lance waits there for a few minutes, eyes straying to the clock on the wall, reading he's about ten minutes early, but it's alright. Ten minutes won't kill him. He resolves to just simply leaning idly against the door until she invites him to sit down again.

It takes her a grand total of those ten minutes that wouldn't kill him to notice, and when she does, she lets out a small cry of surprise. She covers her mouth, lets out a small sigh, then laughs. 

“Oh, Lance. Welcome back. How long have you been there?” she asks, gesturing to the chair. 

Lance offers her a small smile, then shrugs. “Not long. Finished lunch early and came back.”

She seems content with the answer, then clicks out of whatever she was doing on the computer. She returns her attention to him, and her lips quirk into an amused smile at his own. 

“Well. Where were we?”

And he continues. 

~~

It's steady after that. Lance never talks about his attempt, and Gwen never pressures him. She lightly implies at it, that he needs to talk about it to begin healing, but she never forces it out of him. He drops hints here and there, just to satisfy her, but never anything serious. He talks about anything else, though—his dreams for the future, his passion for photography, his friends and lack thereof at school, and Uni, how he was always good at football until he gave it up in high school, and even which university he was attending if they'd still have him after he got out. 

It goes as such for two weeks. In that time, the counselors for group therapy change. They have Mr. Emerson once (who Lance particularly likes) and Mr. Knight once (whom he also likes), and he decides that this facility runs on smiles, apparently. 

Mr. Emerson runs his group differently from Gwen by a long shot. He gets straight to the point, but he's gentle, very gentle about it. It's as if he knows it's a tender subject, and addresses it as such, but still wants to get it talked about. 

He coaxes Freya's story from her, and he holds her hand as she tells it, and Lance feels his heart swell when she speaks. He's already thought Freya to be small, and very scared of the world, and hearing her story proves it. Her voice cracks and it's hard to understand her, but Mr. Emerson just continues talking to her quietly as she retells, and when she's finished, he gives her the warmest smile he's ever seen on a person, and tells her that she's brave. 

Lance tells her likewise, just because he feels it needs to be said. 

She gives him a beaming smile when he does, and it makes him a little happier. 

Elena begins her story, but doesn't get to finish because of time. Mr. Emerson tells them all that they've done a wonderful job and dismisses them. Lance watches how Merlin calls Arthur back for a moment, and has a sneaking suspicion that it's not just to talk, but he pushes the thought away and leaves. 

Mr. Knight is a lot more brutal, but just as kind. He talks to them more than let them talk to him, and it is a nice change. It brings Lance a sense of order, organization, and it's comforting. Mr. Knight reminds Lance of his teachers at Uni, and since Lance never really hated school, he likes Mr. Knight just fine. 

There is no story sharing, but Lance likes the group sessions well enough. 

It doesn't escape Lance's notice the looks that Mr. Emerson and Arthur give each other during group, or just in general, whether it's across the cafeteria or one of them just passing through. He doesn't question it because really, who is he to question another? He doesn't know Arthur's story, or Merlin's for that matter, and if they want to look at each other all the time, he won't judge them.

So it really wasn't a huge surprise to wake at around three in the morning to see them kissing in the hallway on his way towards the bathroom. 

They break apart as he opens the door to see them, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. He thinks he should probably say something, tell them he doesn't care or that it's their business, or even say _what?_ conversationally as if he hadn't seen them to begin with. But he doesn't, and instead of addressing it, he merely walks past them, and goes into the bathroom without another word. 

He can hear their murmurs outside the door, Merlin's panicky, _Oh god, what if he saw us?_ Accompanied by Arthur's quiet, _It's going to be alright, really. Lance won't tell._

And he won't. 

~~

Merlin watches him skeptically for the next few days, but never says anything. Lance only looks at him curiously, as if challenging him to bring it up. He can see the turmoil in Merlin's expression, wanting to ask, but not wanting to reveal it if Lance truly hadn't seen anything. Lance almost puts him out of his misery, but Arthur walks in and Merlin flees. 

But he's not out of the danger zone yet. Violence is not tolerated at the facility, but that doesn't stop Arthur. He goes to walk around Arthur when the blond grabs him by the arm and yanks him back forcefully, putting a hand on either side of his head, closing him in. Lance wills his expression to remain impassive, but on the inside he can feel his heart racing and thinking _please don't hit me, please don't hit me..._

“Listen, I know you saw us that night,” he says lowly, and he can hear the dark undertone of his voice. “Didn't you?” 

Lance nods mutely, slowly, but before Arthur can say anything else, he quickly puts in, “I'm not going to tell. Don't you think I would've by now if I was going to? You can tell Mr. Emerson that your secret is safe with me.” 

He can see Arthur visibly relax, and then he removes his body from his person, and Lance sighs out in relief. He blows out a breath, subconsciously wrapping his arms around his middle, so used to the action it's instinctive. Only when Arthur gives him a strange look does he notice he's doing it, and when Lance looks back, he can see Arthur's expression flash to complete horror. 

“Oh God, did I...?” he begins, and Lance just shakes his head, willing him not to finish the sentence. But he can already hear it. _Oh God, did I remind you of it?_

Arthur reaches out tentatively and squeezes his shoulder tightly, and Lance gives him a small, but certainly grateful smile. 

After that, Arthur doesn't look at him strangely anymore. He looks at him like a friend. 

~~

On the third week of rehabilitation, Lance receives a phone call.

It shocks him, to put it bluntly. He knows that on the third week, you're allowed to make phone calls or receive them, but he never once did he expect to get one. He's never been popular in Uni, and he doubts that anyone at the school has even heard of his misfortune, or if they do, they've never cared. 

So when Gwen calls him into her office, he goes with mild confusion, wondering what he's done wrong or if this has anything to do with Arthur pushing him against the wall, but instead when he gets there, she waves him over to the phone on her desk, and he notices its off the cradle. He glances at her, then picks it up.

“Hello?”

_“Lance?”_

Lance feels his breath catch in his throat, pulling the phone away and staring at it, then he looks at Gwen, who just gives him a knowing smile. He puts the phone back to his ear and whispers, “Percy?”

Percy laughs on the other line. _“Hey, how've you been?”_

He barks out a laugh. “I've been...wow. Why are you calling me?” he says, before he can stop himself. He's always liked Percy, and while he's always considered them friends, but he never thought that the other would pay him any mind outside of Uni. 

_“Heard about what happened. I was...worried about you. Didn't know how you were holding up,”_ Percy responds quietly. _“You're...alright now?”_

“Getting there,” Lance says, as if he's unsure himself, which, not that Percy knows, he is. “I think.” 

He glances about the room, noticing that Gwen is gone, but has left the door slightly ajar. He spaces out for a moment, Percy's words only a dull rumble of sound in his ears when finally he returns to reality to catch, _“You know if...you don't have a place to stay after you get out...you can stay with me.”_

“Really?” he asks, trying to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice. “I mean...are you sure?” 

_“Wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it,”_ he can hear Percy's smile. _“But promise me that even if you don't want to, you'll talk to someone if it gets bad again.”_

Percy was always a man of few words, but great meaning, and Lance feels touched by his concern. He smiles, and sighs. “I will. Promise.” 

_“Alright. Take care of yourself then, little man. Can't take notes for you all the time.”_

Lance thinks he could probably cry, but instead, he laughs. “'Course. I'll be back soon. Three more weeks.” 

_“Three more weeks. I'll call you again soon, yeah? Bye, Lance.”_

“Yeah,” he murmurs, then sighs. “I'd like that. Bye, Percy.”

The line goes dead on the other end, but Lance feels more alive than he has in weeks. 

~~

He tells Gwen on the fourth week, a week after Percy calls. 

It's not one of his scheduled sessions. It's late at night, really, and though the counselors don't stay overnight, he knows Gwen will be working late (she always does on Thursdays, he doesn't know why.)

He maneuvers his way through the dark, and then, seeing the light on in Gwen's office, he knocks quietly on the door. She calls out for whoever is there to come in, and when he steps inside, she looks surprised.

“Lance?” Gwen starts, immediately turning to look at him. “Something wrong?”

The way she looks at him makes him choke on his words, and though he mentally prepped himself for this moment, he still looks at her as though he's unsure. He suppressed the memories earlier, fought them for as long as he could when he first got here, but now, now he has to speak.

“My parents divorced when I was seven,” he begins slowly, lowering himself into the chair. “I went to my father. My mother didn't fight for me. She let him take me. He was an alcoholic.” 

Her eyes soften then. “Go on,” Gwen says, and the rest comes spilling out. 

He tells her of how he comes home from school and he can smell alcohol, about how his mother never called him after the divorce, never cared to drop by to make sure he was okay. He tells her of how his father called him names, would squeeze his shoulders until they bruised, yelling obscenities at him, telling him that he looked like his mother and should've gone to live with her (not that he had a choice), how he hated his mother and therefore hated him. He tells her of how he tries so hard to be good, about how when schools changed no one paid him mind, about how even being good at sports and joining teams didn't bring him friends, even when he tried, even before the divorce. He tells her of University and thinking that maybe it would all change, but how it just seemed to be worse. He tells her of how he was teased mercilessly about his name, anywhere he went, about how his family never seemed proud of him, because they were never there.

He whispers about how he decided one night to just be over it, to lift the burden from his shoulders, to be selfish just once, and make it stop. He whispers about how he stole from his father's wallet and bought the pills, how he locked himself in his room that night, how he curled up and prayed for the last time, before downing the bottle. 

Lance tells her that he has no idea what happened after, only that he woke up in the hospital with his mother by his beside, squeezing his hand and praying for him to wake up. When she does she tells him that she's sorry for everything, and that she should have been there for him, and that she should've fought to keep him. 

He says that she sent him here to “get better”, but he doesn't know what “get better” even means anymore. 

At one point, Lance lets a few tears fall from his eyes, wiping them as quickly as they come. He's not looking at Gwen as he says any of this, but he knows that her eyes haven't strayed from him since they started. 

When he finally stops, sucks in a deep breath, and buries the palms of his hands into his eyes, he realizes how long its been since he ever actually addressed the issue. He hasn't _thought_ about it in so long, has _never_ talked about any of it. But it feels lighter on his chest. It feels different, having someone know his life, has looked inside and _seen_ , seen Lancelot du Lac, with everything trailing behind him. 

He finally looks up again, and when he does, Gwen stands from her seat. She walks around her desk and, pulling at him gently, he stands too, a lot taller than her by far, but still, she pulls him into a hug. 

She doesn't speak, but Lance can hear what she's saying. She's saying, _It's alright,_ and _You've been so strong_ and _I'm proud of how far you've come._

It's the first time he's ever heard those words. 

He hugs her back carefully, wanting to just squeeze, but not to hurt her, just to bring her closer to him. She pulls back and, gripping onto his elbows, she looks him in the eye. 

“You are worth much more than you think,” Gwen whispers, trailing her fingers down to put his hands together between her own. “So much more.”

Lance nods slowly, and thinks over and over, _I want to kiss you._

So he does.

It's gentle and brief, but he kisses her. He leans down a bit and brushes his lips over hers, completely chaste as he presses his mouth to hers. She stills for just a moment, before she begins to move into it. Instantly he pulls back, face heating up. He can't meet her gaze as he pulls out of her grasp, muttering quietly, _I'm sorry_ as he flees from the room. 

He doesn't think of how she didn't push him away. Nor does he think of how she moved to kiss him back. 

~~

Lance doesn't want to leave his room that day. He falls asleep quickly after he leaves Gwen's office, but when he wakes, he feels sick. He runs his fingers through his hair, and instead of trying to return to sleep, he merely lays there, staring idly at the door. 

He misses breakfast, but despite how hungry he is, he doesn't feel like moving. He lays there in a daze, listening to the light sound of moving people to his left and right, and outside the door. 

He doesn't know what time it is when Gwaine comes sauntering into his room without so much as a knock. He grins at him, completely uncaring to Lance's raised eyebrow, before calling out, “Yep, he's a goner, a'right!” 

Lance has no idea what that means, but soon enough, the rest of the group fills into the room. Lance sits up, confused, when Gwaine plops down next to him, and eventually everyone piles onto his bed or on the floor next to his bed. 

Mordred is the last one in, and he closes the door behind him. 

Lance backs up against the head board of the bed, giving everyone a curious look.

“You weren't at breakfast,” Elena breaks in, giving him a smile. “It's like, a rule. If you're not at breakfast, we come in and figure out why.” 

“So,” Arthur drawls, reclining with his arms out behind him. “Spill.” 

He remains quiet. 

“It happened to me once,” Mordred says, out of the blue. “I didn't come to breakfast. I had a nightmare, and I didn't want to get up. I stayed there all morning until they came in. Gwaine practically dragged me out and into the lounge, and made me talk about it. I felt better, though.”

“We decided that you're a more delicate soul,” Gwaine smirks. “So we decided to come to you.” 

“You don't have to tell us everything,” Freya says, reaching out to pat his hand. “Just tell us a little bit. Think of it as group without the counselors.”

The entire group is staring at him, and he doesn't know what to say. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. No sound comes out, and Arthur tilts his head to the side, as if saying, go on. He sucks in a breath. 

“I told Gwen last night.”

It's a start.

~~

He learns about everyone else after he finally is coaxed into telling his story (not all, just bits and pieces). 

Everyone but Arthur is very secretive about it. They name what they did and why easily, but when it comes to the gruesome details, they're very tight-lipped, which Lance doesn't mind, since he was himself. But Arthur is very open about it, as if it doesn't bother him, as if it's over and done and he just doesn't _care_. 

(Lance has a sneaking suspicion maybe he doesn't.) 

Lance also learns a fun bit of information—on weekends, people are allowed to visit. They're actually encouraged to. Lance didn't know this just like he didn't know about phone calls. Mordred tells him that parents don't usually visit for whatever reason, but friends usually come by.

“They always come around one or two,” he explains, “You're usually in session, then.”

“Most of us don't get visits,” Gwaine continues. “Arthur gets visits from his sister. Elena's father comes to see her. Freya's friend, who I have a sneaking suspicion is her boyfriend, visited once. But other than that, generally nobody stops by. It's no big deal.” 

The atmosphere is something Lance likes. It's calmer now, no longer filled with anxiety as they shift the conversation from their problems to everyday teenager talk. He glances over at his bag, then, reaching over, he pulls out his camera. He leans back and, once everyone is visible on his screen, he presses the button and it flashes.

Everyone stills, then looks over at him. He stares back, then smiles apologetically. “Sorry...I...” 

“Nah, mate, that's cool,” Arthur surprises him by breaking in. “Could've given us some warning, though. Gwaine over there would've posed for you.” 

They laugh, and Lance finds himself laughing too. 

~~

They don't talk about the kiss. 

When Lance goes in for his session he's unbelievably nervous. But Gwen smiles at him and waves him in, picking up the conversation from their last session. She talks about the previous night, and now that he's told her, she begins to talk about how he can begin to heal. 

“Do you resent your parents?” she asks, a moment later. “Do you blame them for your pain?”

He doesn't, not really. He doesn't blame himself, either. It's more or less, he thinks, it just happened, because of a lot of different things. 

“I don't,” he says, finally. “I think it's a bunch of things, wrapped into one, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” Gwen presses, and she gives him a look that he can't read.

He stares back, not looking directly at her. “I mean...I don't blame my parents, entirely. That's all. I think it's my fault, too.”

“Lance,” she begins, quietly. “It's not your fault.” 

“Isn't it, though?” he counters, just as quiet. “I mean, it's not like...it's not like anyone force fed me those pills. It's not like...I couldn't tell someone what was going on. I just didn't want to. I was selfish. I said “I want to end it,” and guess what? I tried to. So while it might have been the world's fault partly for pushing me there, inevitably, I was the weaker party and gave in to it.” 

Gwen is silent after that, and when he finally raises his gaze to meet hers, she's looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. She absentmindedly taps her fingers on the desk. “Do you think, Lance, after you leave here, you'll be able to keep moving forward?”

“I think it's possible,” Lance replies, and can't stop himself from letting a small smile form on his lips. “I just have to find something, or someone, worth living for.” 

He looks her in the eye when he says this, but she doesn't respond.

~~

There's a big fight going on outside when he leaves Gwen's office. 

He steps back into the lounge to see a man standing there, arms folded behind his back with a looming sort of look, and he reminds Lance of the principal he had back in middle school that basically used intimidation to keep the students in line. He's only in the doorway, but it's clear his presence is felt throughout the entire room. 

He steps in, followed by Gwaine and Freya, just in time to hear Arthur say, 

“Just _get out!_ I don't want to see you, Father!” 

The man seems very displeased by Arthur's tone, and says as much. “You will not speak to me that way, do you understand, Arthur?” 

“What _right_ do you have to come in here and talk to me like that? You're acting as though _nothing_ has _happened_!” Arthur spits, and swats Mordred's hand away as it goes up to comfort him. “I want you to _leave!_ ” 

“Stop acting like a child,” the man, Arthur's father, demands angrily. “I'm simply informing you of what will occur once you get out of this, facility--” 

“I don't _care_! I have no interest in _anything_ you have to say to me! You don't understand and you haven't even _tried_! I'm not your puppet, Father! You can't tell me to do something and expect me to--” 

“You are my _son_ , and this little...rebellious tantrum of yours will soon enough be over. I can see I have indulged you in your childlike fantasies for much too long...”

Lance feels his blood boiling, wanting to yell at the man for talking to Arthur in that way. The overwhelming urge to stand up for his friend rises in his chest. But it's not his battle to fight, and judging from everyone's looks, they want to help, as well, but are restraining from doing so. 

He jumps when he hears a frustrated scream, and is surprised to realize it's from Arthur. Arthur who has never lost his cool, who had always seemed to be confident, and unconcerned, who is now grabbing one of the chairs and--

“Arthur!” 

Mordred's voice breaks in, and thankfully, Arthur slams the chair into the floor instead of at his Father. Lance glances around, and notices how Elena has gone quite pale, and Gwaine moves from behind him to bring Elena into his arms, and comfort her. 

“Get _out!_ ” Arthur screams again, kicking the chair he tossed down. “Get out _now!_ I want you gone, just _leave!_ ”

“Is something the matter, Mr. Pendragon?” 

Lance turns to see Merlin walking through the door, passing a look between Pendragon junior and senior, before resting his gaze on the father. His stride is cool and confident, but Lance can see the fury in his eyes, misted over with hate and anger that probably means this isn't the first time Pendragon has caused a problem.

Merlin passes his eyes over Arthur again, and it softens slightly, before hardening again.

“Mr. Pendragon, I must ask that if you upset the patients of this facility, I'll have to escort you out,” he says, coldly. “We cannot have you destroying the process we've made. I understand that you want to visit your _son_ ,” he puts venomous emphasis on the word. “But if it causes Arthur harm, I will have to make sure you cannot see him until the program is over.”

He holds the father's stare for a long minute, before the man swiftly turns on his heel, and leaves the area without so much as a goodbye. The atmosphere in the room is tense for a moment, before Merlin finally lets out a sigh.

He pays no regard to anyone in the room as he pulls Arthur towards him, enveloping him in a hug. He can see how Arthur grips the fabric of Merlin's shirt tightly, letting out choked breaths, as if he's trying not to cry. 

Lance smiles at them, and notices that the others are smiling too. 

“Finally,” Gwaine says, out loud, and the sound of everyone's laughter fills Lance's ears. 

~~

The fourth week melts into the fifth, and it's on the fifth week that he brings it up again. 

Lance catches Gwen leaving one night, and, on an impulse, calls out to her. 

She stops in the hallway and he catches up to her, heart pounding in his ears as she tilts her head curiously. 

“Lance,” she says. “Something wrong?”

“I...” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I wanted to...apologize...for the other night,” he manages, finally, hoping she doesn't pretend it didn't happen.

She doesn't, thankfully. Instead, she sucks in a small breath, meeting his eyes. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before smiling, faintly, “It's alright. Things...like that happen all the time. None taken, Lance, don't worry--”

“I'm not sorry for kissing you,” he blurts out, before he can stop himself. Realizing he's already said it, and at her confused expression, he hurries to add, “...I'm just sorry for...doing so...without your permission.” 

She stills, and Lance has a sinking feeling he's gone too far. Gwen looks away, shifting her purse on her shoulder. “Lance...”

“Gwen,” he makes a move to take her hands, but she pulls away. 

“It's entirely inappropriate,” Gwen mutters, biting her lower lip. “Nothing...can come of this. I'm your counselor, Lance. It's easy for you to want this in your state. Your mind is vulnerable, and it's entirely normal for you to want these things with whomever is around you, someone you trust, but once you get out of here you'll forget all about this and me—”

“No!” Lance denies, then captures her hands in his own. He squeezes gently. “I don't think I could forget you if I tried, Gwen. I'm not just...I know what I'm feeling. And what I'm feeling is--” 

“ _Stop,_ ” Gwen whispers, trying halfheartedly to pull from his grasp. “Let go, Lance.” 

He let go, reluctantly. “Tell me, then. If you tell me that you didn't feel anything that night, I'll never mention it again. You have my word.” 

She doesn't speak, and continues to bite her lower lip. He reaches out for her, but again, she pulls away. 

“Go to bed, Lance. I'm going home,” she murmurs, finally, and before Lance can stop her, she makes a hasty retreat. 

~~

“You look as though someone has killed your puppy,” Gwaine says to him as he returns to the lounge. 

It's only him, he notices, and he glances around the room to see if anyone else is lingering. Gwaine grins. “Just me, mate. Everyone else turned in, not too long ago.” 

He nods, and Gwaine pats the seat next to him on the couch. “Sit,” he orders, and Lance knows better than to argue, so he complies. 

They stare at the blank television screen for a bit, and Lance idly watches his reflection in its screen before he notices how Gwaine reclines, turning to look at him. Lance returns the look, and they lock eyes for a brief moment before Gwaine says, rather loudly, “So. You and Ms. Smithson?” 

He colors, shaking his head. “It's not like that. Gwen...”

“It's nothing to be ashamed of,” he breaks in. “Love is strange. You meet someone, you like 'em, then you get to talking, realize whether or not they're the one...it's complicated. But it's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, look at me and Elena.”

“You and Elena?” he asks, curious. Of course, seeing them earlier gave him ideas, but he hadn't thought on it for that long. Gwaine laughs, glancing out around the lounge.

“Yeah. I fancied her long before we started dating. Imagine my surprise when I found her here, same reason I was. But it worked, you know? We found ourselves here. Then, what do you know, we end up together. I plan on taking her out when we leave, a proper date. The like,” he smiles, softer this time, then he looks back to Lance. “What happened with Ms. Smithson?”

“Things,” Lance mumbles, then shrugs. “She doesn't like me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No, but...”

“Let me tell you something,” Gwaine puts an arm around him. “Girls are complex. Ms. Smithson in particular is proper. She's your counselor. She's obviously not going to look at you as a potential love interest. But say, if she saw you, at a pub, she might look twice. Let's go through this. You're an attractive bloke, and you're legal. You just started University, am I right?” at his nod, Gwaine goes on. “Therefore, there's not too big of an age difference between you. Even so, in this day and age, it wouldn't matter anyway.”

“My point is,” Gwaine finally declares. “It's entirely possible. A thing between you two. You're serious about her, right?”

Lance nods. “I don't know why. I've never...felt like this for anyone, before.” 

“Then if you play your cards right,” he grins. “You'll find a way.”

~~

Days pass, week five slowly but surely makes its way towards their final week. The atmosphere remains mostly calm, and in between sessions of therapy and meals, everyone makes it a point to play cards around the table. 

“Are we all friends?”

The question startles everyone, somehow, all gazes turning to Elena as she sets down her cards face down. Arthur puts all of his together, placing his elbow on the table while tapping his cards on it with his free hand. Gwaine clears his throat, and glances around at everyone's faces, while Mordred simply keeps looking at his cards as if he hadn't heard. Freya looks at Lance, and Lance shrugs.

“I think so,” Lance says, setting his cards down as Gwaine drums his fingers on the wood. “If...you guys want to be.”

“I've never really had friends before,” Mordred admits quietly. “Just people to work with every now and again.”

“I was always surrounded by people,” Arthur sighs. “Never friends.”

Elena hums softly. “I should like to have you all as friends.” 

“Then that's settled,” Freya nods, and Gwaine waves his hands. 

“There we are, then,” he says, then clears his throat. “Now, who's got sevens?” 

~~

“You know, Lance, you've made excellent progress since your first day,” Gwen says, smiling at him. Though one look at her tells him that she's pasting it on, and he hates how she wants to act fake around him now. But instead of addressing it, he just nods, slowly.

“I'm glad. I've...felt a lot better, lately,” he admits, quietly, giving her a tight smile in return. “It's a lot easier to think, now. Think clearly, I mean.”

She nods. “That's good. I'll be sad to see you go. Three days left, isn't it? 

“Three days,” he repeats, and it feels almost bitter on his tongue. Three days left before he faces the world again. 

“Are you nervous?” 

He thinks about it for a brief while before he answers her. It is a little nerve wracking, to face the world again suddenly after over a month of being in a rehabilitation center, and by now everyone knows that Lancelot du Lac tried to commit suicide in his room via sleeping pills all that time ago. 

He thinks about Percy, and his dark thoughts soften. Percy cares. And everyone here, in the rehabilitation center. They care.

He looks at Gwen, and despite everything, he's pretty sure she cares. She probably cares more than anything. 

Lance meets her eyes, and with a shrug, he offers her a gentle smile. 

“A little. But I think I'm ready.”

~~

It's day forty-five and he is not ready. 

He looks around at the familiar white walls, looks at how when once his room was tidy, it has things strewn around from late night escapades with Arthur, from long, night talks with Mordred, to Gwaine stealing his camera and having to chase him around the room for it. He knows he'll miss it, he'll miss the only friends that he's ever really had. 

His mother will be along to pick him up shortly. He inhales deeply despite how gross it might be to him. He surprises himself, however, not noticing the original smells he once hated—paint, wax, crayons, but instead now he smells hope, happiness, and love. It fills him with a feeling and he wipes at the corners of his eyes, just to make sure he's not crying. 

(He knows that will come later.)

Lance gathers everyone together for a group photo, and if he notices the way that Merlin and Arthur's hands are extremely close, how they brush against one another, he doesn't mention it, and thinks that maybe he'll be able to use this photo in the future. Dreams of perhaps meeting up with them in the pub, years from now, laughing like old friends as he spreads the photos out on the table, pointing at how he knew of their romance before anyone else. He sees Gwen sitting next to him and his smile widens. 

He looks to Gwaine and Elena and is happy. He knows that Gwaine is going to take her on a proper date, the one she deserves, and knows that all will be well. He doesn't know if anyone else knows about them, but he thinks that either way, they're good for each other and he prays for them, hoping for a successful relationship. Mordred and Freya look much brighter than they did when he first met them, and that makes him happier still. 

He takes a photo (or two, or three) of his rehab group. He calls in Mithian for one as well, for even if she had little part in his experience, she was there all the same. He snaps a few photos of them, takes individual shots here and there, and he goes to put his camera away before Gwaine says, rather loudly, 

“Does that have an automatic shot on it?”

It takes Lance but a few moments to realize what Gwaine is asking. He nods, and then the other grins, before snatching the camera from him. Lance feels a slight twinge of anxiety, but Gwaine pulls a chair over, puts a book in the chair, and puts the camera on top. He sets it, and then drags Lance by the collar back into the photo.

Lance barely has time to smile, before the flash. He laughs, along with everyone else, a small, warm feeling blooming inside of him. He has a feeling this will be his favorite photo. 

He idly packs his bags, throwing in things that he doesn't even know how they left the bag to begin with. He sets his camera down gently into one of the pouches, and sets it on the floor by the door. He makes the bed, smoothing out crisp sheets and lets out a soft sigh. 

This is the last time he'll see this room. 

It's become his home, because, he quotes in his mind, home is where the heart is. 

His heart has been here for a great deal of time. 

He barely gets to the door when Mithian knocks, and he knows it's her just by the way her knuckles rap on the frame. He opens it, and she gives him a gentle smile, before saying quietly, “Your mother is here.”

He nods. 

Lance grabs his bag from the floor, slings it over his shoulder, and walks out. Everyone else is standing there, idly looking at him, as if trying to figure out how to say goodbye. Freya breaks the tension by running up and throwing her arms around Lance's neck, murmuring, “I'll miss you,” into his shoulder. He hugs her back, and tells her likewise. 

He hugs Mordred, who seems to stiffen at first, but slowly just eases into it. Elena hugs him with a little more force than necessary, and she gives him a cheeky grin when he looks winded. Gwaine pulls out a marker from his pocket, writes his number on the back of his hand, and winks. “Call me,” he says lewdly, then throws an arm around him in a hug. “I'll wait for you.”

Elena bursts out laughing, and Lance can't help but laugh, too. 

He looks to Arthur, who, he offers a hand to. He doesn't think Arthur is the kind for hugs. 

Arthur takes it, but Lance is thrown off when Arthur pulls him in, wrapping his arms around him. He grins when it's over, and says coolly, “You're alright, du Lac. Gwaine, pass me that marker.”

He tosses it, and Arthur catches it. He writes his number on his palm. “Text me, sometime.” 

Eventually, everyone thinks it's a brilliant idea, and quickly, everyone exchanges phone numbers and contact information, promising over and over to keep in touch. By the time everyone is done, all of their arms are covered in marker and numbers. They laugh at that, too. 

With a last round of hugs, a few handshakes, and hurried goodbyes, Lance heads towards the door. His mother is waiting. 

He remembers Gwen, and stops. 

He didn't say goodbye. 

Lance turns, scans the room, but realizes she's not even there. The rest of the counselors are, but not Gwen. He ignores Mithian's calls of concern as he rushes back, also ignoring the group's questioning voices, and Gwaine's voice calling, “Yeah, you make your move!” 

He barges in without knocking. She jumps, and he lets out a breath as his mind processes, _she's here, she's here..._

“Lance...” she mutters, putting a hand to her heart. “You scared me. What's...oh, goodness! You're leaving, aren't you?”

“Yeah,” he says, then smiles, a little breathlessly. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Gwen rises from her seat, and walks around her desk. She gives him a smile of her own, and Lance thinks it could possibly be somber. She takes his hands, giggles at all the numbers, then gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.

“It's been a pleasure knowing you, Lance. I'm sad to see you go, but I'm also happy. I know you'll be very successful from here on,” she tells him, and he's nodding, but scarcely are the words getting through. 

His heart is thudding in his chest. “Yeah. Thanks. I really...I'm really glad that you were my counselor, Gwen. You gave me hope,” he admits honestly, squeezing her fingers back. “I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for that.”

“Go live life,” Gwen murmurs, looking up to meet his eyes. “That's all the payment I need.” 

She lets go, and he finds himself longing for her touch the second he loses contact. She smiles, and her eyes are wet. She swallows. “Goodbye, Lance.”

He almost says goodbye, his lips form the words, but suddenly his body just takes over. In a second, he reaches out, grabs her by the wrist, and blurts out, “Have dinner with me.”

Gwen stills. She gives him a curious look. He hurriedly goes on, “I really...really like you, Gwen. I'm done, I'm leaving today. You're not my counselor anymore. I know, I know you think I'm just a kid, but Gwen I want to...to be with you. I want to be with you more than anything. So please, have dinner with me. Soon. Sometime soon.” 

He takes in a deep breath, waiting for rejection, for heartbreak, for anything, until she lets out a laugh, sounding almost hysterical. He thinks maybe he's ruined it, ruined everything, but no, no, no.

“Yes,” she breathes, touching the hand on her wrist. “Yes...I'd like that.”

Lance startles himself with a half-hysterical laugh himself, before he pulls her in for an embrace. He relishes in the feeling of her smaller frame in his arms, and thinks that it's meant to be. 

Gwen tugs herself away a bit, and looks at him again, and this time, he doesn't hesitate to press his lips to hers. He almost whoops in joy as he feels her kissing back, moving fingers up to card through his hair, before resting her arms around his neck and shoulders. 

It's as if she's saying, _Here you are. Here's who you are, now._

And all he can think of in return is, _Here I am. Here I am with you._


End file.
